You make the rockin' world go 'round
by mightyBookworm
Summary: Genderswap! turns out Above and Below have got around to Crowley and Aziraphale and what their punishment should be (eventually), turns out beaurocrats don't have a sense of humour, mild c/a probs less than is in the book i won't whine like a bitch but reviews would be a lovely thing to get


A/N: yep back with another little oneshot because I'm lazy and can't concentrate much. Yet another partnership with Mistiness (she puts the filling in my pie of a story)

If you like there might possibly be a more mature rated sequel but yeah let me know if you would want that

Insert disclaimer here and grovelling for reviews like a little bitch

The little bell above the door tinkled abruptly as a dishevelled figure nearly fell through the glass pain in it's urgency to get in. The lock, of course, simply pretended it had temporarily gone out of existence; things tended to be so accommodating as far as this particular demon was concerned. Mostly own good.

"Angel, Angel? Are you in!" A few stumbling steps in to the room and no response "You had better be! Something terrible has happened…" an odd pause "it involves breasts" the strange voice echoed around the bookshelves, the new pitch emphasised by the space. The silence stretched for a moment longer as the demon wondered whether to elaborate simply to get it off his new, rather well endowed chest. It appeared he was addressing an empty building anyway.

"I'm having similar issues of my own," Aziraphale finally answered, sounding harassed "and quite frankly I can't handle my own, let alone anyone else's". The answer had come from the back room. It was familiar and muffled but a little bit off.

"Oh don't tell me you're indulging in the sins of the flesh! Because upstairs won't be happy!" of all the times for the angel to discover this particular aspect of his 'rebellious' stage (using the term in its loosest sense), it had to be now.

"I need your help now!" Crowley whined then started. Didn't that suit him so well now? He wasn't sure that was a good thing but thoughts like that would have to wait.

"Not quite…" another strained pause "just a moment… I'm dealing with a couple of" there was a delicate cough "problems". The angels tone was sweet but still as fake as Canderel*.

After the sound of scuffling and the mildest expletives known to man (or indeed, ethereal beings); a young, short and very curvy woman appeared.

"For the love of…" Crowley started at the same time as Aziraphale gasped: "Not you too"

"Gender reassignment is a bitch" Crowley grumbled trying to push the black fringe out of his eyes to get a better look at the situation "Must say, I like the preppy choir girl look though"

"Yes yes, quite satisfactory if a little… um… voluptuous?" Aziraphale smoothed his/her knee length tartan skirt. Crowley considered making one of many comments that sprang to his mind, several of which included allusions to bouncy castles and typographical features. He decided against it.

"At least my body has fashion sense" Aziraphale went on, a touch of primness (even bitchiness?) entering his/her tone, "I understand you are fond of black but really that amount is bordering on the ridiculous.

"Long white socks were never a good idea, no wonder yours died a virgin" Crowley scoffed "mines a subcultural thing, yanno? wear black, practise Satanism: the Goth business. I'm practically an embodied stereotype"

"What have the sackers of Rome got to do with it?" Aziraphale was mildly confused but seemed to put it out of her mind as she swept him with another look "Are all those piercings quite necessary?" She straightened the thick cardigan she was wearing with a self conscious twitch while making a surreptitious search of her own extremities for extra pieces of metal.

"It comes with the territory I suppose," Crowley tried to regain some of his usual off-handedness while he casually began to extricate the studs and rings from his nose and lips "very similar to those dandies you were so fond of, equally drippy and melodramatic"

"Really, they weren't that bad, I daresay."

"No buggering now" a rather humourless laugh "you don't have the equipment". Aziraphale sputtered a bit, glared, realised what a pointless exercise it was (particularly as she had lost what imposing qualities she had ever possessed) and took a seat, looking rather deflated.

"Well I wasn't really involved in that side of things"

"Of course you weren't" the newly feminised Demon began, interested to discover the new timbres of sarcasm she could achieve "now if you will excuse me, I must get some suitable clothing. The blacks good but the scruffy coat 4 sizes to big really cramps my style"

"You couldn't possibly pick me out a few things could you? The skirt takes me back to that god awful time we had to spend in Scotland" she shuddered expressively. Crowley couldn't tell what precise memories she had in her mind; the drunken behaviour, persistent rain, northern sensibilities (or lack there of) or the cultural heritage based on sheep innards. Even someone who had witnessed the excesses of voodoo priests struggled to wrap their minds around it.

"And…" she went on more pragmatically "I darest not bend over" the Angel belied these words by carefully leaning under the front desk and pulled out a small roll of money. The bookshop was very choice real estate and those people who tried to 'acquire' it tended to bring incentives and happened not to leave with them afterwards. It was a fixer for not actually selling books, Crowley supposed.

She tutted at the precaution, "honestly, we're all girls together now"

"Yes well…" Aziraphale tossed the notes to Crowley as she turned to the door. Naturally, she caught it behind her back without looking and tried to look suitably infernal in the teenage girl's body as she stepped onto the street. Surprisingly, this wasn't nearly as hard as one might expect.

A few hours later the Demon returned with many shopping bags and no money. She looked very proud of herself, a smug smile looking out of place on her pasty face. There was a certain satisfaction in the physicality of shopping that she had never before realised, something which was lacking when you simply willed a new item in to being or appropriated it from a shop with a thought.

"Do I have any change?" the Angel ventured, a little hopelessly. She carefully placed two steaming cups on the front desk, fastidiously ensuring that they were at the centre of coasters. "I hope you didn't buy me anything …lewd"

"Of course not! On both counts, what do you take me for?" Crowley inquired, inspecting the contents of several bags as though she had quite forgotten what she had bought "I mean it's not as if I'm a Demon or anything"

"Well you _did_ just pay for actual clothes, from a shop" the Angel pointed out "I wasn't quite sure what an effect the addling might have on your powers of reasoning or indeed your …eclectic taste" Unable to help herself, she took a few bags and made her way to the back room "thank you ever so much though"

"Technically the money I used is not mine or yours, so I will let it slide" Crowley called after "I'm no fashionista but these will suffice for now". Self deprecation wasn't exactly a normal state for the Demon but it seemed to come naturally enough now. Along with an odd excitement at the sight of the bulging bags; there was a certain level of satisfaction that one usually only got from a tempting but also a guilty pleasure that she was pretty sure belonged to the tempted, not the tempter.

She pulled a pair of very skinny black jeans out of the nearest bag and held them up to her slim legs. Within a blink they had replaced the ripped and torn ones of the previous occupant of the body, shortly followed by a tight red blouse and even slimmer tie.

"I suppose this is about that damn end of times thing, the paperwork must be very backed up if it's only just now catching up with us. They really ought to modernise" Aziraphale mused from the backroom "I can't believe I actually thought we had got away with it for a while there. That neither side particularly wanted to acknowledge that anything had 'gone on' so to speak."

"I take it Heaven is as sexist as the church" Crowley said frowning at the doorway.

"Well" the angel sighed "they had to have got it from somewhere. Not everything they do is down to poor communications"

"It's a shame, the priests, monks and penguins aren't going to take your holy revelation seriously anymore" Crowley sighed almost (but not quite quite) sincerely "It's lamentable really"

"Why did they change you? Aren't women the root of all sin, though?" there was a reflective pause "I thought Eve was sweet and was just taken advantage of, as you know" Aziraphale looked meaningful as she appeared pulling a brush through her messy hair.

"I seem to have been not so subtly steered towards the more physical side of tempting" the Demon sneered slightly "rather demeaning, not to mention a waste of my talents".

She sighed and pulled a pair of scissors out of the well organised desk tidy, deftly taking out the impressively long fringe in one swipe, leaving it straight to just below her eyebrows. This was quickly followed by a large majority of the lank black mess, leaving a small neat bob. She set the scissors down haphazardly; the angel tutted and replaced them neatly.

Aziraphale took a seat in his chair behind the the desk, now in a pair of comfortable beige trousers, a ¾ blue top and matching decorative scarf.

"I see you went for the receptionist look," Crowley said after a moment, then felt a small thrill at the cattiness.

"Yes well…" The Angel crossed her arms a little awkwardly over her chest, scanning her companion as though to say 'there are rather more bawdy names that could be used for your own choice if one was ill mannered enough to give voice to them'. They stared at each other before downing their tea in one go.

"Did you put something in the tea?" the Demon asked, feeling a slight burn in his throat that had nothing to do with the lukewarm temperature of the reviving liquid.

"I thought rum was needed at a time such as this" was the sheepish answer.

"I'll say" Crowley nodded, reaching down to the bag and pulling out several large slabs of chocolate "I hear this is supposed to help too"

"Well, cocoa can be soothing…" The angel eyed the stuff suspiciously.

The demon rolled her eyes as she tore off the rapper; it seemed as though they had a lot to get used to.

"Damn cocoa" she said with all the authority and scorn of one who has experienced it and has caused others too on many occasions "got any

more of that rum?"

Fin

(for now)

*for those who don't know it's a brand of artificial sweetner


End file.
